


One of God's Good Gifts

by inusagi



Series: Hartwin Week [2]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Comatose Harry, Gifts, Hartwin Week, M/M, sappy use of victorian flower language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 10:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4603209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inusagi/pseuds/inusagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy brings home souvenirs from his missions, so that when Harry wakes up, he has more than just the sterile white walls of his hospital room to look at. </p><p>Hartwin Week: Day 2. "Gifts"</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of God's Good Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> “You try spending six months sitting at somebody's bedside, waiting for them to die and then tell me that the happy-ending love story isn't one of God's good gifts.”  
> ― Susan Elizabeth Phillips, _Ain't She Sweet_

Eggsy shuffled into Harry’s suite, battered and bone-tired. He placed the billao—a horn-hilted shortsword he’d just picked up in Somalia—carefully on the bedside table, next to the yellowed telephone and the Buddhist healing statue he’d brought home from China last month.

He fidgeted with the items for a moment, careful not to scuff the soft sheepskin sheath of the shortsword, before throwing himself heavily in the overstuffed chair a kind nurse had dragged in for him.

Harry, for his part, was still sleeping.

At least, Eggsy preferred to think of him as sleeping, rather than as being in a coma—or worse, a persistent vegetative state.

He watched the slow, steady rise-and-fall of Harry’s chest and let the lullaby beep of the heart monitor coax him into resting himself until an irritated Scottish voice snapped him awake.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Eggsy.”

“Alright, Merlin?”

“You were _stabbed._ You nearly _bled to death._ You should be in _hospital._ At _home,_ at the very least _._ ”

“Nah, guv, I’m good. The extraction bloke stitched me up, yeah? Gave me a transfusion, or whatever. I’m right as rain.” He flashed a reassuring smile that was a too weak and tired to actually reassure. “Just wanted to check in an’ give Harry his present.”

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose. “And what piece of homoerotic rubbish did you drag in from the Horn of Africa?”

“It ain’t like that,” Eggsy scowled. “And it ain’t rubbish.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t know the story of Ganymede before you bought that hideous vase.”

Eggsy followed Merlin’s pointed finger to the offending vase, a reproduction of a much older one showing Ganymede presenting the god Zeus with a goblet. He’d filled the vase with purple flowers—asters, irises and hyacinths with vivid yellow daffodils to brighten the bouquet. He filled the vase with the same bouquet week after week, and had them delivered if he was abroad.

When Harry woke, Eggsy wanted him to see something beautiful.

“Might have done,” he concedes. “But it’s classy, innit? The bloke in Thessaloniki said it’s one of the most popular motifs. I think Harry’ll like it.”

Merlin simply stared at him a moment—an intense, appraising look that had Eggsy fighting the urge to squirm in his seat—and sighed heavily. He leaned against the foot of Harry’s bed, legs crossed slightly to create the illusion of casualness.

“Eggsy, it’s time to start facing reality,” he said, quietly. “Very soon, we’ll have to drop the charade that Harry is someday going to magically awaken. We need to let him find some peace.”

“It’s not a charade,” Eggsy snapped. “He’s going to wake up. The doctors say he could wake up at any moment.”

“They also say he might never, and you know it.”

Eggsy said nothing, unhappiness written all over his young face.

“You need to decide what you’re going to do with all this rubbish when the time comes, lad.”

“I don’t need to,” came the stubborn reply. “Harry will take it all home with him after he wakes up.”

Finished with the conversation, Eggsy turned his attention back to the even tempo of Harry’s breathing. He heard Merlin’s frustrated grumbling, the slamming door, and the matron scolding his ungentlemanly behaviour in the corridor. He waited until the voices faded to lean forward to grasp Harry’s limp hand, mindful of the IV.

“Don’t listen to him, bruv. He’s just a cranky old man. You’re gonna wake up, I know it. You’re gonna wake up for me.”

Eggsy’s voice broke, and he swiped at the tears streaming down his face with a ruined sleeve before continuing.

“I need you, Harry. There’s so much you ain’t taught me yet, and I can’t do this without you. So, you gotta wake up, bruv, as soon as you can. I didn’ even get to say how sorry I am for our fight,” he rambled on. “You was right to be angry. I was stupid and ungrateful. You’ve given me so much and I almost threw it all away.”

He sobbed, pressing Harry’s cool hand to his own too-hot forehead. “Please, _please_ wake up, Harry. This can’t be all there is. You can’t die still thinkin’ I’m a fuck-up. You can’t die without knowin’ how much I love you.”

Eggsy cried and ran his mouth until he felt like a wrung-out flannel, twisted in knots and left out to dry.

“I ain’t gonna let Merlin pull no plugs, swear down. Them nurses love me and all’s Merlin does is snap at ‘em like the cranky bastard he is. Don’t you worry, an’ you take as long as you need. I’ll just keep bringin’ you flowers an’ presents from all over the world, so that when you wake up, this place’ll be posh as fuck. You’ll feel right at home.”

He pressed his lips to Harry’s palm, savouring the slightly salty tang of his skin, the scent of the soap he’d nicked from Harry’s bathtub for the nurses to use on him and, more than anything, the glorious, comforting feeling of Harry’s skin against his own. He was focused on memorizing the feeling that it took him a heartbeat too long to notice.

Harry’s fingers had flexed, on their own, then nearly straightened out to cradle the curve of Eggsy’s jaw.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I'm a horrible, sappy sort, I put way too much thought into the bouquet: 
> 
> Daffodil—unrequited love  
> Purple hyacinth – please forgive me  
> Aster—I wish things had turned out differently  
> Iris – your friendship means so much to me
> 
> All the flowers are purple, except for the daffodils, which are bright yellow. The Asters have a yellow center, as well, so I feel like these would actually all look really pretty and balanced. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> [](http://statcounter.com/shopify/)


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